One story recounts that a Tennessean, after a single day in the then almost impenetrable tangle of cypress, briars, and canebreaks..., pestered by myriads of mosquitoes, and bogged in the heavy gumbo mud, declared: "Arkansas is not part of the world for which Jesus Christ died--I want none of it."LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,His friends and merry men are we;...And when the troop of Tarleton rides,We burrow in the cypress tree.The turfy hammock is our bed,Our home is in the red deer's den,Our roof, the tree-top overhead,For we are wild and hunted men.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

He told of the Magnolia, spreadHigh as a cloud, high over head!...The Cypress and her spire;MOf flowers that with one scarlet gleamCover a hundred leagues, and seemTo set the hills on fire.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »